


Minion

by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hallucinations, Mind Manipulation, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofcamelot/pseuds/Leahelisabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing on from Abandon all hope. Sam wants to move on and keep working, but Dean can't let go, not even when a being that terrifies its victims before killing them threatens a small town, and their own lives. Hurt!Sam. Hurt/Angsty!Dean. Sam/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Faces from my nightmare filled my waking hours, their visage burned permanently into my retinas. Awake or sleeping, they were always before my face. I lost count of the hours I lay awake, my eyes burning a hole into my skull from exhaustion. Countless times, I woke up screaming. I longed for the sweet oblivion of a dreamless sleep, but it had ceased to be a refuge for me a long time ago.

A knock at the door jolted me from my mindless fear and I walked to the door as if the one who waited beyond was my last hope of salvation. I opened the door and my gaze was met by the hazel eyes of a tall man, only a few years older than I. Those eyes darkened to concern when I clutched his arm like a drowning man clutches a piece of driftwood. "Thank God!" I whispered fervently.

"Woah, are you all right?" He clasped my shoulders and led me to the nearest kitchen chair. I could not force myself to let go of him. I had been suffering alone for several days. I had not heard another voice but my own and the raspy hissing words that came from the lifeless lips of the faces that haunted me.

The man did not ask me any questions but rather sat there in silence as he waited for me to calm down. Slowly, my breathing slowed and my heart stopped pounding quite so quickly. I relaxed the fist that clutched the sleeve of his coat and I straightened up, looking him in the eye.

He seemed to sense the moment that I became calm enough to speak to him. "My name is Sam Winchester," His voice was deep and smooth, like chocolate and I found myself relaxing further as he spoke. "I am a private investigator looking into a string of suspicious deaths in the area and I wanted to ask if you had noticed anything. . .unusual."

"Like strange people hanging around, sounds of gunshots or items of value reported missing? Things like that?"

Sam pursed his lips and thought carefully before formulating his next sentence. "That could be helpful, but I was thinking more like flickering lights, sudden drops in temperature or strong odours, like rotten eggs, sulphur."

"There may be a psycho killer wandering around Billings and you are looking at power outages and weather phenomena? What kind of investigator did you say you were?"

"I am a self-employed investigator working for a privately owned company. They ask us to be thorough ma'am, asking questions the police or FBI wouldn't think to ask." Sam spoke calmly and with one look into his eyes, I felt myself calming down again. It was impossible not to trust those eyes.

"So what did you mean by this area? This state, this city or what?" I asked. I knew the longer I could keep him talking, the more time I would have before I was once more trapped in the hell of my own mind.

"You mean you don't know?" Sam looked at me quizzically.

I shook my head. "I haven't gotten out of the house for a week or two."

I saw awareness jump to life in his eyes. "They were all in this neighbourhood. First it was the Murphy's at the end of the street, then Fredericson's in the blue house followed by Yun Mei who lives on top of the convenience store right across the street from you. Many of the other houses on the block are either empty or ignoring the doorbell. You are the only one to answer the door today. If you know anything at all, that would be really helpful."

"They are dead?" I looked at him in shock. "It can't be. I saw them all at the block party two weeks ago. The Murphy's hosted it. They were celebrating their 25th anniversary."

Again, I saw a spark of alertness flare up in his eyes. "Have you seen any of them since?"

"No, that afternoon was the last time I left my house. I haven't even been into my back yard." Sam looked deep into my eyes and at that moment, I remembered that he wasn't a good friend, not even an acquaintance, just a complete stranger I had let in off the street. My fear returned with a vengeance and my breathing got quicker and sharper, as if I couldn't get enough air. Sam's handsome face transformed into that of a rotting corpse. I could smell decay on its breath, maggots dripping from his tongue and squishing between his teeth and a nest of spiders beginning their rapid flight out of empty eye sockets; horrifying and oh-so-familiar, a frequent visitor of the night.

I grew dizzy from the oxygen I was pouring into my system. Bright colours exploded in front of me and I could no longer tell if I was sitting, standing or lying down.

I woke up on the floor, Sam's arm cradling my shoulders and his concerned face mere inches from mine. He was back to being too gorgeous for his own good. There was no hint of decay on his chiselled features. I relaxed into his arms.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I sat up carefully, rubbing my eyes. My face was strangely gritty and when I licked my dry, chapped lips, I discovered why. "Did you throw salt in my face?"

He turned red and looked away from me, chuckling nervously. "Um. . .it was the first thing I found."

"Obviously you don't do well in a panic. Next time, try a glass of water." Fear coiled once more in the pit of my stomach, but it seemed a little easier to push it back this time.

"I know you're going through a bit of a tough time right now," Sam spoke gently. "But I need you to tell me everything you can remember about that block party."

"Right, I am sure your big corporation wants to know every detail of a backyard BBQ. I don't possibly see how this information could help you solve a couple of murders. I haven't seen anything. I haven't left my house and obviously, I am not dead. I think it would be best if you go now."

I stood up from the table, intending to show him the door, but he grasped my hand in his. "Humour me," he said.

I tried to resist, but those hazel eyes were practically burning a hole in my brain. I looked down at his hands and the first thing I noticed was the sheer size. My entire hand could fit into his palm. His fingers were long and straight and his palms were roughened from use. They were the hands of a working man, strong enough to tear down a building, definitely able to give as good as he got from anyone. His knuckles were skinned and one of his fingernails was blackened and falling off. The strength in his hands overwhelmed me, and the tenderness made me melt. He held my hand as if it was a newborn kitten, gentle yet firm, and he rubbed his thumb over my knuckles almost with reverence, worshipping the softness of my skin. I wouldn't have trusted him for the eyes or the face, not even for the strength and grace in the way he moved, those are an easy mask to fall for, but truth lies in the hands and I knew I could trust this man with my life.

"It was a real scorcher that day. It was hot from the moment the sun came up. For the morning and much of the afternoon, I had sat on my couch with all the curtains drawn, crunching ice and reading. I almost didn't go, but the Murphys are. . .were such an important part of our neighbourhood that I knew I should at least make an appearance." I paused. "Are you sure this is what you need to here?"

"You're doing fine," Sam smiled. "Keep going."

"I left my house around 4:15. I was already late so I had to hurry. By the time I got there, I was drenched in sweat. We all were, so it didn't matter. Mr. Murphy especially looked sick. I think he had lost weight and there were dark circles under his eyes. He seemed really jumpy, but his wife and son seemed fine. I wasn't there for more than five minutes before the storm started. It blew up really fast. The clouds were an awful purplish green and there was a lot of lightning. We all just headed for home."

"And what about since then? Why haven't you left your house?"

Fear threatened to bubble up within me again, but I pushed my forearms down onto my gritty kitchen table until I could feel individual grains of salt pressing into my skin. It seemed to ground me in reality in some way. "I was scared. The storm. . .it didn't seem natural. Every time I close my eyes, I can see it, but that isn't the worst part. In my dreams, faces come out of the storm, dead faces, decomposed and being eaten by all manner of pestilence. I haven't slept. . .really slept, in days. And I can't leave. What if the storm comes again and I am trapped outside with no blanket or curtain or bathroom door to hide behind." My hands trembled in Sam's, but I was not struck by the excessive terror that had been plaguing me.

"I am sorry. I don't know how any of that can help you catch a killer. It's just the phobia of a crazy woman, not anything resembling real evidence."

"You were more helpful than you think. I may have some ideas to go on now. Thank you." He stood from the table and prepared to leave. "I will leave you my phone number. Don't hesitate to call if you remember anything else, no matter how trivial it may seem to you. I will check in with you no later than 9:00, just to make sure you are doing ok. Oh, and keep your saltshaker close." He winked at me, turned and strode out the door. I wrapped my fingers around the comforting glass of my kitchen saltshaker. He was right, it did make me feel better.

Twilight was turning to darkness by the time Sam returned to the cheap motel room. He had been through the whole neighbourhood more than once, hoping perhaps that there had been someone who had popped out to do the grocery shopping, someone who was working late, but there had been no sign of life except the one woman who had been frightened out of her wits. He had been so shaken by the lifelessness of the place he had forgotten to get her name.

He locked the Impala and sighed as he noticed the mud coating her normally shiny, black paint. She could do with a good wash and a tuneup. The engine had started knocking a little on their last long drive.

Sam walked into the hotel room. "Dean, you here?" he called. The lights were off but Sam could hear deep breathing. He flicked up the light switch and saw his brother sitting on the couch. "Just where I left you," he sighed.

Dean sat there, staring blankly ahead, dark circles staining his eyes. His face had about a weeks worth of stubble roughening his jaw line and his hair hadn't been washed in the same amount of time. Bloodstained jacket, jeans and boots told Sam that his brother still hadn't changed since that day, the day that their nightmare became reality.

"Dean, I found us a job." Sam knelt before his brother, trying to catch his eye, but Dean stared right through him. "Please Dean, Can I tell you about it?"

"No," Dean's voice, husky from disuse, cracked as he spoke. "I can't. Not yet Sammy. Don't try to make me."

"Dean please, what can I do? What can make this better? I can't watch you do this to yourself." Sam's tears fell unashamedly. "We don't need to find Lucifer right away. We will let Death have a hiatus. Let's just get back to fighting some good old-fashioned paranormal. You love it Dean. You need it. It keeps you sane. You can't just sit here and let the world go to hell.

Dean looked down at himself, detached and emotionless. "Do you see what this is, what is covering me right now? This is blood, Sam, and it isn't mine. This is Jo's blood. She is dead because of us, because of mistakes we have made. If we had thought things through; realized that the colt wouldn't work, we wouldn't have gone in there like we did, and Jo would still be alive. You ask me if there is anything you can do. Leave me be." His green eyes were dry and cold as he stared back up at the wall. He refused to say another word as Sam went back out for supper. He didn't eat the double bacon cheeseburger, and didn't respond when Sam gushed about the beautiful blond waitress.

The only sign of life was when Sam tried to remove his jacket and shove him into the shower. He fought hard then, punching Sam in the face and body repeatedly until he saw the blood flowing from his nose and staining his own knuckles. Then he retreated back into himself and sat once again on the threadbare motel couch, still dirty, still grieving.

He was still sitting there when Sam woke up in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam made no effort to be quiet as he got ready in the morning. He had not slept well the night before and was more than a little grumpy. He stomped around the room and tossed things as he looked for a pair of semi-clean socks in his usually well organized duffle.

He peeled off his sleep shirt, still damp from sweat, and hurled it into his unresponsive brother's face. "C'mon Dean, up and at 'em."

The shirt slid slowly into Dean's lap where he clutched it to himself with trembling fingers. He didn't say a word, no matter how much Sam chattered on.

Sam didn't even bother trying to get him into the shower. He didn't want to bleed on his last clean shirt.

"I am going to the library," he announced. "Call me if you need anything." There was no answer. Sam thought his fragile heart could not break further, but new splinters worked their way through his chest as he watched the shell of his brother, dead eyes staring at nothing, mouth muttering a single name over and over again. There was nothing he could do.

XXXXX

A knock at the door roused me from a sound sleep. I yawned as I shuffled to the door, opening it without even checking through the peephole. Sam Winchester was back.

"You look better this morning," he smiled. "Did you manage to sleep?"

"Yes," I laughed. "I had a wonderful night. I can't remember the last time I slept this well."

"I am glad." A real grin lit up his face. "What made the difference?"

"I took your advice and slept with my saltshaker."

"Oh?" he laughed. "Do you want me to give you some privacy? I can come back later. He winked at me and my heart stopped beating, just for a second. I could feel my face going bright red and I wanted to respond in kind, but it seemed my witty banter was the first to go out the window when confronted by everything that was Sam.

"In all seriousness," he said. "I don't blame you. I went to the library this morning and I think I know what we are up against."

I shivered at the sudden shift from gaiety to gravity. "What is it?" I whispered.

Sam looked me right in the eye. "I have something important to tell you and you are not going to like it. It is going to change how you view life and the world around you. I can solve this problem without you, although it would be easier with your cooperation, and if you don't want to deal with this, you can leave and go to a hotel and come back when this is all over." I was tempted to laugh at him for being melodramatic, but somehow I knew that he couldn't be more serious.

"Sam, I am a part of this now. I want to help you. You need to tell me everything."

"I wish I could spare you this." He gently ran his fingers along the curve of my jaw line. "It has been too long since I lost my innocent view of the world and I would give anything to spare you this. I am sure you had sleepovers as a little girl." At my little nod, he continued. "You probably told ghost stories, trying to scare the crap out of your friends."

I laughed and looked up at him. "Of course I did, but what does this have to do with a psychopath on the loose killing families."

Sam took my hand in his again and I couldn't do anything but look into his eyes and listen. "All those stories, the ones about things that go bump in the night, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, even demons, what if I told you that they were all true; that we really should be afraid of the dark?"

My first impulse was to laugh in his face, but I could not. "Two weeks ago, I would not have believed you. In fact, I probably would have kicked you out of my house and told you to go to hell, but two weeks living in abject terror sure can change a person's mind about the safety of the dark. So what are we up against, ghost, the girl on the e-mail chain letter that fell into the sewer and got her face ripped off?" My second impulse was to panic, but he was still holding my hand and I didn't feel I needed to do that either.

He smiled in relief. "You are taking this a lot better than I imagined you would. No, I don't think it is either of those. In fact, I am pretty sure the chain letter is a hoax. No, this is something new, something I have never faced before. Have you ever heard of the Four Horsemen?"

"Yeah, like the Apocalypse, Armegeddon and Revelations and all that stuff?"

"Exactly. One of the Horsemen, Death, was released by Lucifer not that long ago."

"And you think he's come for me?" I sat, stunned, feeling the world turn ever so slightly.

"No, not exactly. Death doesn't come for individuals, or even small groups of people. Death comes for slaughter, carnage of the worst kind, but while he is waiting for the opportune time, he needs to be fed. He has these. . .creatures who work for him. I don't really know what to call them. They aren't exactly demons. They don't need to possess anyone to do their work. They aren't corporeal but they aren't spirits either. Basically, they terrify people to death. They isolate them and hang around them, sometimes as long as two months, literally scaring them to death. Then they take the soul and bring it to Death. He feeds and is sated for a while."

"So, Death's evil minions are using me for a pick-me-up?"

"That's not exactly the way I would put it, but yes, that is exactly what is happening." Sam rubbed his thumb gently over my knuckles, watching my face for any sign of hysteria. "How are you holding up so far?"

"I think I am OK." I took several deep shaky breaths and continued on. "How do you know this stuff?"

"It's kind of what my brother and I do." He smiled. "You know, saving people, hunting things. We have been doing it all our lives. Granted, the stakes have been a little higher lately, but we can't just take a seat and watch evil take over."

"Alright, what can I do to help."

"For now, I am going to put a salt line around your bed and you are going to go back to sleep. This thing does its really dirty work at night and that is when it will come out. I need you fresh and with it to help me tonight and I know you haven't slept much recently. I am going to go and gather the supplies we need and I will come back sometime in the late evening and explain everything to you then." He looked out the kitchen window and whispered so softly I could hardly hear him. "And perhaps I will have reinforcements."

Sam led me back to my bed and, with a bag he had brought out from his car, laid down a thick line of salt. "Sweet dreams." He smiled. I didn't even hear him let himself out before I was relaxing back into bliss.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam once again returned to the motel room. He hoped to see some sign that his brother had moved, but once again, his hope was in vain. Bloodstained clothing and stubbly jaw were still present and the only sign of life was the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. He had stopped crying out for Jo and seemed to have retreated even farther into himself.

"I need your help tonight, big brother." Sam knelt before his brother's chair. "This is too big for me to handle on my own. It isn't Death himself, but someone very close to him. It would mean everything to me if you could have my back tonight." Sam barely held back the tears as he pleaded with Dean, but there was no one home in his brother's eyes. "You said you were always going to be around to look after me. Please Dean, I don't want to die." Sam could hardly believe how low he had sunk, trying to blackmail his brother with thoughts of his own death, but even that could hardly get a rise out of him.

"I just get people killed." Dean whispered. "You are better off without me." For a moment, there was life in the form of an unshed tear, then the death once again took over.

Sam bustled around the room getting ready for the hunt that night. He packed an arsenal into his backpack, not sure what to be prepared for. He supposed it was similar to a demon and planned accordingly, but the truth was, no one had ever killed one of these before. They had tried, but Sam had seen the lists of dead hunters that had tried and failed to rid someone of these harbingers of death. Fortunately, they did not show up often. Death had not been walking around the world and had only sent one every fifty years or so, but every time they came, they left a wave of unstoppable deaths in their wake.

However, Sam had found an account written by a survivor, one man, half of a pair of brothers. His brother had sacrificed himself, protecting his barely conscious brother in a ring of salt. He had made it halfway through an obscure exorcism ritual. It had seemed to be working until the being, in one last ditch effort to break away, had leapt forward and shoved the hunter into the wall, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. The brother who survived had been forced to watch, too weak to pull himself to his feet, as his brother died and he did nothing.

Sam was nervous, checking and rechecking that he had everything he needed. He had lots of salt. Holy water apparently had a very minimal effect on the beings, but salt was effective for repelling them. It was really a two man job, but Dean stood staring at the wall as Sam talked aloud to himself, explaining all this, hoping Dean would come to his senses and be ready to stand beside him.

Sam went out and got dinner, double bacon cheeseburgers and fries. He wolfed his own down and left one by Dean's chair, hoping the aroma would tempt him into eating. He reached into Dean's jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone, not surprised to find that it was dead. He hunted around in his bag until he found the charger and plugged it in, also leaving it by Dean's chair. "So I can get a hold of you. . .if I need you." Sam spoke seriously. Again there was no response.

Finally, all his preparations finished, Sam sat on the edge of his bed, leg jumping nervously and flipped through several channels on the TV. There was nothing on, but he watched it anyway, finally landing on Dr. Sexy M.D. It was more Dean's thing, but Sam wasn't really watching anyway. Finally it hit 7:30 and Sam, knowing there was approximately an hour and a half of daylight left, headed out the door alone. Dean still hadn't unwrapped his burger.

XXXXX

I opened the door to the face of Sam Winchester for the third time in two days. I had slept until about 7:00 and I felt more refreshed than I had in ages. I was almost cheerful. I smiled at Sam as I opened the door and I think it threw him for a loop. People always told me that my face was transformed when I smiled. I was moderately pretty by anyone's standards, but I had perfect teeth and full, sensuous lips and I always threw my whole face into the effort of smiling. Many had told me I was truly beautiful when I smiled.

Sam carried a backpack in with him, and the handle of a large bag of driveway salt was clutched in his large fist.

"Is that all we need?" I asked.

"I hope so," he smiled.

"So, what is the plan?" I pulled him toward my kitchen table.

"Wait." he said, grasping my hand in his and pulling me to a stop. "I never did catch your name."

"Leah, Leah Cooper." I smiled as I pushed him into the chair. "Do you need anything to eat or drink? I might have some cranberry juice in the fridge. I also have tea or hot chocolate."

"Just sit down. We don't have much time." Looking into my eyes, he laid out our plan of action.

"My primary objective in this is to keep you safe, but there will be some danger involved in it for you. I need to know if you still want to continue." He looked at me probingly and I nodded, unable to keep the apprehension from my eyes.

"I am scared," I said. "But I want to do this. I need to be free of this."

"Good, because I can't so this by myself. I took a bit of a look around and I think the best place for the confrontation would be your bedroom. You already know how the salt works to keep this thing away, but for tonight we need a little more than a saltshaker clutched in your fist. I am going to put a heavy salt line around your bed. That will be the safe zone for you. As long as you remain inside the circle, it can't hurt you.

"I need to spraypaint some symbols on the floor and ceiling. Those should keep it from attacking me while I say the words that will send it back to its master."

"I am not seeing a huge amount of danger in this." I looked into Sam's eyes. "Why are you so afraid? We both stay in the salt ring and it can't touch us. You say your magic words while this thing is trapped by your symbols and voila, no more bad guy."

"It isn't quite that simple. I can't be inside the salt ring while this is happening and the symbols are only a temporary solution. I only have a short time before it will break out and it will be coming for me the moment it does." Sam spoke carefully. "I won't lie to you. It will be dangerous and I am not assured of the outcome. I won't make you do this, but honestly, I don't think it will work without you here."

"Why can't you be inside the salt line?" I asked.

"For the very first moments of this night, you can't either. This entity kills its victims by forming a mental bond. It found your mind at that block party, just as it found all the others who attended and now it has followed you here. It doesn't have a body, so the only way it can live in the physical realm is if it is linked to a human being. Salt interrupts that link, which is why it couldn't find you last night. You need to stay out of the salt ring long enough to bring it here. Once it arrives, it will latch onto my mind and you can step into the circle. But if I follow you back into the circle, the link will be broken and it won't be able to stay. I can't kill it if it vanishes and it will vanish if I don't leave myself unprotected. And once I begin the exorcism, it will become one pissed off evil minion of Death."

"Sam, no!" I cried. "You can't do that for me."

"You can't live in a ring of salt for the rest of your life and this. . .thing cannot return to Death until it has collected you and it is going to get angrier and angrier as time goes by. Generally these things only act at night, trusting on residual fear to keep you in your place during the daytime. That is why it hasn't already become linked to me. But if you deny them, their anger makes them stronger. It will watch you constantly and eventually you will slip up and it will take you, violently and painfully. I can't just leave you to that fate." I had to stop looking at him. Why did he have to be so darn beautiful and heroic? Worst of all, I knew he was right. I couldn't live like this.

"One thing confuses me." I looked back at Sam. "If this thing only works at night, how were we all infected at the block party in the afternoon? And if it needs to be linked to a human in order to inhabit the physical world, how does it become melded with its first victim?"

Sam smiled at me, impressed. "I like you. You actually think about things instead of taking everything I say on blind faith. There was a thunderstorm that day, right?" At my nod, he continued on. Those storms are like a vehicle for these things. It provides cover from the light of day and transports it to a place where it can form a link with a person. Once the link is formed with the first person, it can spread to anyone around."

"Have you told me everything about the part you want me to play? Do I just have to wait outside the circle until it shows up and then watch as you kill it?"

"I need you to watch my back." I didn't think it was possible for Sam to get more serious. "I am going to give you a shotgun. It is going to be loaded with rock salt. If this thing gets the jump on me and I am unable to continue, I want you to shoot it. Don't worry about hitting me. It'll hurt, maybe bruise a little, but it won't kill me. I have no such guarantee from the being. The shotgun will give you a little bit of time to get out of the circle and drag me back into it. Pulling me into the circle will probably disrupt the salt so you fix that immediately, before helping me.

"Under no circumstances are you to call the hospital. You are putting the emergency personnel in danger if they come and it will come back for me if they remove me from this circle. I brought a first aid kit. That will have to do." I started to shake my head. "Promise me that you won't call the hospital for help." I reluctantly nodded.

"One last thing," he spoke, placing a cell phone gently in my hand. "If things don't go well, I need you to call my brother. He might not pick up right away, so keep calling. His name is Dean. He is the only Dean in my phone. If I don't make it. . ." I gripped his arm and shook my head more fiercely at the suggestion. He tenderly cupped my chin and made me look up into his eyes before continuing. "If I don't make it, he needs to know what happened. Take this key and go to room 314 at the Cozy Kettle Inn and tell him. Go at noon, fill your pockets with salt and drench your hair in salt water. Tell him it isn't his fault. I hope. . ."He looked out the window and I caught again the flash of naked pain and longing that I had glimpsed before.

"Promise me that you will save him if you can." He whispered. I nearly wept.

"I promise."

Sam stood from the table and took a breath, once again becoming the calm and brave man I had seen first. "The light will be gone in fifteen minutes. That will be enough time to put down the symbols, lay the salt line and prepare."

It took thirteen minutes to arrange the room to his satisfaction. The symbols were done perfectly. A single unbroken line of salt stretched around my bed and the shotgun and cellphone sat in the very centre, a harsh contrast to my feminine bedding.

Sam came over to me and, gripping my shoulders carefully, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "Don't be afraid," he said.

I squared my shoulders and, finding a strength within me that I did not know existed, I waited.


	4. Chapter 4

I could feel it enter the room. The oppression and fear I had been free of came rushing back all at once. I could see the decaying faces and purple lightning in my minds eye. I knew the moment it bonded with Sam's mind. His face grew pale and his eyes grew huge. He made a huge sloppy gesture, frantically motioning for me to get back into the protection of the salt circle. I was frozen, staring at Sam, staring at my nightmare made flesh, and I could not move if I wanted to. The creature turned to me first and somehow I knew it intended to finish me tonight. I gazed into the eyes of Death's servant and I was entranced, even as I felt my soul being pulled out through my eyes.

Sam thrust himself in front of me and shoved me into the circle of salt. As soon as he did, I felt my head begin to clear. I immediately bent down and straightened the salt line where it had been mussed by my heel. I crawled up into my bed and cradled the large gun to my chest and watched as the drama unfolded before my eyes, my mindless terror being replaced by my fear for Sam's safety.

The trap seemed to be working. As soon as the being reached the center of the circle, it coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape and could go no further. It struggled for a while, gradually taking on form. Sam splashed it with water from a bottle and it sizzled and screamed, wilting as it stood captive by the simple spray painted lines and curves on my bedroom floor.

Then Sam began to chant and all hell broke loose. The being arched its back and screamed soundlessly. I clasped my hands to my ears in pain, but could not shut it out. The vibrations bypassed my ears and struck straight into my core. Sam's voice faltered for a moment, but continued on strong. The creature writhed and quivered in agony, its shape once again beginning to dissipate, little flames running along the edges of its essence, burning away the oily blackness into the purity of fire.

The ritual was long, but victory seemed at hand. The dark slowly began to fold in on itself, shrinking away, but just as it seemed about to disappear entirely, it rallied and its featureless face stilled and gazed at Sam, cobalt twin fires slowly growing out of the formless mass.

Sam's voice stuttered to a stop and he stood, staring back, face expressionless and body trembling violently. I watched as his face slowly crumpled in defeat and, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand, he knelt down and scratched away one tiny section of the symbol he had so painstakingly traced not long before.

I cried out in horror as the creature's finger-like appendages transformed into vicious claws and it leapt toward Sam, bearing him to the ground where he lay still, blood pumping from fresh claw wounds on his chest. I cried out again and again, shotgun cradled in my arms, forgotten.

XXXXX

Sam looked into the creature's eyes as it stood in front of him. There were maybe ten more words he needed to recite but they caught in his throat as the blue flames transformed into eyes that were green and familiar. Face and body followed and Sam, voice swallowed back, stood and stared into the worn and haggard face of his big brother.

"Dean?" he thought he whispered it aloud, but his lips weren't moving. He knew he should keep speaking, that both his and Leah's lives depended on him finishing the ritual but all guards on his mind were down and he could not collect his scattered thoughts and emotions enough to continue.

"Hello Sam. Miss me?" The creature with his brother's face spoke softly.

"Dean? You're here. Did you come to help me?" Sam's brain was on fire from confusion, fear and hope.

Dean's head was thrown back and he laughed harshly. Sam shivered at the cold and heartless tone. "Dean is gone, Sam. There is nothing left of your brother in the shell you left behind in your motel room. Dean was gone the night that Jo died. That night, I came and took him. Oh, I left little bits and pieces, enough to keep him breathing, but not enough to let him care. You see, I knew you would come after me and my orders were to make sure that you had never been more alone. What better way than to take Dean? I couldn't kill him of course, we need you damaged, not broken. I knew that a little time watching your brother slip away, utterly helpless to stop it, would be the quickest way to bring you to your knees."

"No," Sam cried out soundlessly, still unable to coax any sort of response from his frozen lips.

"I want your soul out of the way. Your body is enough for Lucifer, but as long as you remain strong within it, he is stuck within his quickly decaying vessel, unable to realize his full potential, unable to take his place as ruler of earth and heaven."

Sam stood still, wishing he could drop to his knees or fall on his face, hide his eyes from the world, forget that the face of the monster was also that of the person he loved most in the entire world.

"It's all your fault, you know." Sam shuddered violently. "You could have saved him. If you had been vigilant, if you had been stronger, you could have prevented Death's rising and my summoning. Your brother would be grieving, but he would still be at your side, facing your uncertain future together."

Each word was another blow. Sam wished he could sink into the earth and disappear rather than have guilt raining down on his head like a mallet at the fairground, ringing his head like a bell until he couldn't think anything but three words. Must save Dean. . .Must save Dean. . .Must save Dean.

"There is a way for you to save him." The creature whispered. "Release me. Finish the ritual when I am free and the souls I hold of the men and women I have not killed will return to them and they will be completely restored. Keep me inside this trap and they will die with me. Kill me in this prison and your brother dies with me. You have the power to hold me off. Hell quakes when we speak your name. Set me free and you can have your brother back."

The voice of his older brother in his head screamed at him that they all lie, everything evil, demons and any other malicious being gifted with the power of speech. He couldn't trust a word it said. Sam didn't know if he should believe the voice in his head or the one that spoke right in front of him, but he was tired of fighting, tired of feeling the guilt and he missed his brother. He bent over with the knife in his hand. He wasn't sure exactly where it had come from, and he scraped away a tiny part of the symbol. It was enough.

The being leapt out of the circle, once again shapeless and unrecognizable, any trace of his brother was gone. Sam knew he had chosen wrong as the razor-sharp claws swept across his chest, once, twice, three times. White-hot pain erupted through his body, followed by the agonizing chill of the soul leaving the body. He heard a woman's voice crying his name as the back of his head met the hardwood floor.

 _What? I am right here._ He thought as his consciousness drifted away and everything faded to black.


	5. Chapter 5

I watched, terror holding me frozen, screaming on the bed as I watched bright red blood flowing from myriads of gashes on Sam's chest. _He's dead. He's dead. I know he's dead.No one could survive that._ Tears flowed down my cheeks unheeded as the monster knelt down, misty edges blurring with Sam's forehead, growing stronger and darker as Sam grew pale and lifeless.

Then hope filled me once again as Sam stirred beneath the monster, hazel eyes opening to mere slits and mouth moving almost imperceptibly as he continued to whisper. _Omnipotentas D-d-deo._ The creature screamed and flung Sam across the room, sending him crashing into my vanity mirror. It shattered and I could see the blood soaking through the back of his shirt as he dropped face-down to the floor. _Spirit-t-tus S-sanctus._ It pushed him to the ceiling, cracking the plaster and sending it down in a fine dust all over the floor. Sam was breathing hard through his teeth, trying desperately to push through the pain. _Iesus Christus,_ It dropped him then and he landed awkwardly on his left leg. I heard the snap as he hit the floor and my stomach nearly rose up in protest.

 _Kyrie Eleison._ It knelt on top of him once again, putting its hands around his neck. _C-c-c-christe Eleison._ Its hands tightened and Sam started thrashing as he fought to get air back into his lungs. I still fought to swallow back the bile. _K-k-kyrie. . ._ Sam relaxed once more into unconsciousness and I finally remembered the shotgun in my hands.

It kicked back hard against my shoulder but I managed to shoot the thing. It dissipated immediately and, adrenaline pumping hard through my veins, I leapt off the bed and threw myself to Sam's side.

"For Pete's sake Sam, why do you have to be so heavy?" I moaned as I pulled him back toward my bed. I didn't know how long we had and I could feel precious seconds ticking away as I pulled him across the safety of the salt line. "No time to get you on the bed yet," I muttered, trying to wrestle his impossibly long legs into a position where no part of him stuck beyond the line of salt. I ended up compromising and extending the circle out past his body. He lay far too still.

Nervously, I checked the line again and again, adding more where I thought it looked a little thin before finally turning my attention back to Sam. I took one look at the mass of torn flesh and t-shirt, blood still pumping, puddling on my floor, and I leaned over the other side of my bed and vomited the little I had in my stomach. My stomach was empty, but I kept heaving, yellow strings falling from my mouth as my stomach spasmed over and over.

Finally, my hysteria gave way, as if I was too exhausted to be frightened and I managed to sit down by Sam's side once again.

"Sam, come on, wake up." I ran my fingers gently through his hair before placing them on either side of his face and gently cradling his head in my hands. "I can't get you up there by myself." Tears dripped slowly from my eyes, landing on his nose, his mouth and gently quivering there before running off his face. "Oh God, I don't know what to do." I pressed my lips softly to his forehead, tasting the salt of my tears as they fell.

He was still breathing, but it was shallow and ragged and the gap between each breath grew almost imperceptibly longer. "Damn it Sam, please don't do this. Don't die on me." I gently slapped his cheeks and was rewarded with a slight moan and grimace. He slowly rolled his head back and forth, trying to shake loose the cobwebs as he slowly returned to consciousness.

"Leah?" He looked up at me, reaching for my face. "Are you all right?" His bloodstained thumb wiped tears from my eyes and caressed my cheek.

"I am fine, but you. . ." My voice faltered. "You're bleeding. Band-aids I can handle, but this. . .Sam, |I am not a nurse. I need to call the hospital. I need to get you help." My hand closed on his cellphone, but his much larger hand closed over mine.

"You can't. You promised. You know you don't want anyone else to get hurt." I nodded and he released my hand, letting his arm fall limp and closing his eyes.

"Sam, you have to stay awake." I slapped his cheeks again.

"Not sleeping, just thinking," he whispered. He opened his eyes again and with a Herculean effort, raised his head enough to look at his chest. "Need to stop. . .bleeding. You have kit?"

I nodded and grabbed it from under the bed. "Gauze, just rip shirt, shredded." he said. I nodded and ripped open several packets of sterile gauze squares, tearing his shirt away and putting them over the open wound on his chest. They turned red immediately. "No, don't take them off. Add more. Got lots." I nodded and obeyed.

"Alright, need pressure. Help me sit up." I pulled him up to a sitting position and leaned him against the bed. His twisted leg dragged behind him and I winced every time his boot caught a snag in my uneven floor. He didn't cry out, but his breath grew sharper and blood began to trickle from his mouth from biting his lip. He reached into the box and pulled out a white roll. "Wrap this around me, tight as you can." I nodded and complied. I know I hurt him, but he sat still, looking fiercely at something over my shoulder, arms shaking as he struggled mightily to keep from flinching away.

I could see him fading, his eyes blinking slower and slower and new we had to act fast. "What about your leg.?"

He looked at it, confused, for a moment. "Uh. . .simple closed fracture. . .I think. Got a magazine?"

"People and InStyle in the drawer of my night stand."

"Um. . .K. . .InStyle. . .Duct tape in kit. Wrap it around as tight as you can and duct tape it so it stays. . .helps to. . .keep it still." By the time I finished, he was sweaty and panting and his face was deathly pale. He dug around in the kit again and pulled out a bottle of painkillers, dry swallowing three of them.

"Ok, now we need to get you up on the bed." I stood up and reached for his arm.

"Its ok," he said. "I'll stay here. Don't want to bleed. . .blankets." He once again let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

"No!" I spoke calmly and firmly. "Screw the blankets. I am not leaving you on the cold floor. It is gonna hurt, but you are going to get into that bed and you are going to stay there." I stared into Sam's eyes, letting him know that I meant business. He tried the puppy-dog eyes and, as devastating as they were, I am a little more stubborn than people give me credit for.

"Fine," he muttered. I knelt beside him, pulled his arm across my shoulders and struggled to pull him to his feet. He tried to help, but he was weak. Eventually, we managed to get him far enough off the floor that he could flop onto the bed. He clenched his teeth as the landing jarred his leg, every tendon in his neck stuck out, betraying his agony, but he didn't make a sound.

I carefully gathered his legs and slid them under my blankets, pulling them up over his shoulders. His eyes shut the moment he sank into the softness. I knelt down and retrieved his fallen cellphone.

"Are you coming in too?" He whispered, voice soft and slurred.

"No, I am going to sit up. I will call your brother. Go to sleep Sam." I brushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead. He clasped my hand and his eyes opened once more to reveal his earnest hazel eyes.

"Need you beside me. . .to protect you," he pleaded. "Need to know. . .you're safe."

My heart felt like it was wrenched out of my chest. "You are the one who is hurt. Don't worry about me."

"Can't help it." A ghost of his dimpled grin crossed his face. "Get in here. . .or I'll drag you in. . .myself."

I relented and slid in beside him. He painstakingly levered himself up onto his side and pulled me against him, one arm wrapped around my abdomen, the other on my forehead, pulling me into the hollow where chin meets neck. I could feel the comforting throb of his pulse through my hair and his warm breath tickled my ear.

"Now you can call Dean." His deep voice rumbled in his chest and I relaxed against him, sliding open his phone and calling Dean.

It rang four times and then I heard, _Robert Plant, leave a message._ I turned my head to look at Sam. "Robert Plant?"

"Don't worry. . .its him. Keep calling til he picks up." The deep vibrations of his voice reminded me of when I was a little girl and I fell asleep on my Daddy's lap as he read to me. Sam relaxed and I could tell he was asleep, yet even in sleep, his body curled itself around me, shielding me from everything outside our little circle of peace.

 _Robert Plant, leave a message._ Redial. _Robert Plant, leave a message._ Redial. _Robert Plant, leave a message._

I kept that phone to my ear, hitting the redial button every time I heard those words. Sometimes I left a message. Sometimes I didn't. Sleep was the farthest thing from my mind. I recited favourite poems and sang songs to myself, trying to push through my fear, for Sam. Every time I pushed that redial button, my heart jumped further and further out of my chest. Finally, I drifted off, the phone still clasped to my ear and the lyrics of an old ABBA song running through my head.

_Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a man after midnight. Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away? Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a man after midnight. Take me through the darkness to the break of the day._


	6. Chapter 6

Dean sat still in the motel room, the comforting strains of Enter Sandman wafted through the room, but he did not acknowledge it. His legs and back ached from sitting too long in one position, but he welcomed the pain, hoping it would be atonement for at least a small part of the pain he caused everyone who knew him.

Waves of guilt wracked his thin, dirty frame. His father, Jo, Pamela and numerous others, all dead. Bobby was in a wheel chair and now Sam was off by himself, fighting his fight. Dean had heard the fear and longing in his voice as he left to face Death's forerunner. He wanted nothing more than to break free from the oppression that covered him, but he wasn't strong enough to shake it off. He didn't have the strength for anything but to sit in crappy hotel rooms, waiting to die, hopefully before his negligence got his brother killed.

At about three am, he realized the constantly playing Metallica was his cellphone, receiving call after call. By about five, the ringing stopped and Dean sat holding his breath, waiting to hear it again, knowing that as long as his brother was trying to call him, he was still alive. At six, he picked up the phone in shaking hands, barely comprehending that the screen registered 57 missed calls and 16 new messages.

He dialled voicemail and trembled when he didn't hear the voice of his brother on the other end, but the voice of a woman he did not know.

_"Dean, you need to come. Your brother needs your help."_

_"Dean please, it's pretty bad. Sam needs you."_

_"Dean, you need to hurry. I don't know what happened between you and your brother, but if you ignore this, you might not have a brother by this time tomorrow."_

_"He made me promise not to take him to the hospital. He said you would know what to do."_

The messages continued in much the same vein, slowly growing more hysterical, until the very last one, downcast and resigned.

_"Dean, he's your brother."_

Dean couldn't get his fingers to work, it took him several tries to dial his brother's number, only to hear it ringing and ringing before it went to voicemail. _This is Sam. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible._ Dean tried again, and then once more, still not receiving an answer. Crushing hopelessness swept over him and he slid off the ratty motel couch onto the threadbare carpet, curling around his cellphone and weeping from his loss, knowing there was no force in heaven or hell that could redeem him now.

XXXXX

I woke to the sound of the phone ringing. I couldn't find it immediately. My hands had relaxed in sleep and it had fallen between my body and Sam's. Sam stirred as I dug around searching for it, moaning softly before relaxing back into a stupor, not once opening his eyes. Finally, I found it shoved under the pillow and flipped it open just long enough to see Dean's name on the call display before the battery died and the room was filled with the sound of it shutting down.

"Damn it." I muttered under my breath, flopping down beside Sam for just a moment to think. I frowned when I realized how hot it was under my covers. My nose was slightly numb from the chill in my bedroom but it was stifling under the blankets with Sam. I pressed the palm of my hand carefully to his forehead and was instantly worried by the heat that radiated off his dry skin.

I shifted on the bed to get closer to Sam, hoping that if I measured again, he would feel cooler, that the fever was all in my imagination, but as I did, I felt a stickiness on my back. I peered over my shoulder and gasped. My t-shirt was literally covered in blood. I pulled back the blankets and gasped when I saw Sam's chest. The bandages were soaked with blood and there was a significant pool of blood underneath his body and the I could tell that the edges of the gashes were getting red and puffy.

"Sam," I called softly, needing more than his unconscious body pressed against mine. "Please wake up." I ruffled his hair absentmindedly before gently slapping his cheeks. I was rewarded as Sam groaned again and slowly opened his eyes halfway. I smiled, but my face soon turned back to concern when I saw his confusion.

"Dean?" he mumbled. "Need you Dean." His eyes slid slowly shut again and this time, I could not rouse him and I had no idea what to do.

I considered changing the bandages, but when I tried to pull them away, they were stuck to his chest with dried blood and I couldn't risk reopening the wounds. I didn't know how much blood a person could lose and still survive, but Sam must be approaching that limit. I settled for wrapping another bandage around his chest, pulling tighter then I had the day before, hoping that if any of the wounds had not yet sealed, this would take care of it.

Sam had told me to wait til noon to leave the protective circle, but it was now only 6:30am and Sam was getting hotter with each passing moment. He was starting to shiver and toss his head, calling out unintelligibly as he started to hallucinate.

Finally, I ended up sitting against the head of my bed, Sam's head in my lap, fingers toying with his hair, praying that he would be alright and that my decision to wait wouldn't mean his death. I watched the three inch gap in my curtains, longing for full daylight. Shades of gray and blue gradually became pink and orange and I found myself nervously drumming my fingers on Sam's cheek as I waited for the blue to take over.

The moment I figured it wouldn't get any lighter, I carefully laid Sam's head back on the pillow, crawling out of bed. I stuffed two handfuls of rock salt in the pockets of my blood-spattered jeans then stood at the edge of the circle, breathing deeply, trying to get the courage to step over the line.


	7. Chapter 7

My breath whistled through my nose as I took one, two, three deep breaths. Finally, I knew that I couldn't wait any longer. Sam was now well and truly unconscious and he was beginning to moan and cry out from the fever. Everything within me longed to crawl back into the bed beside him and comfort him, hold him until he was healed, but I knew his death was a far more likely conclusion if I buried my head in the sand and clung to him.

On breath number eight, I stepped quickly over the salt line and quit breathing altogether, waiting for the waves of terror that had overwhelmed me before. They didn't come and I let out all the air in my lungs, slumping in relief and drew in deep breath number nine.

I didn't waste time drinking in my relief, but left the house quickly, grabbing my bike in the front yard and pedaled to the Cozy Kettle as fast as I possibly could. My lungs soon burned and my calves felt like they had turned to jelly. I realized that I hadn't eaten in at least two days, maybe more. I was only too ready to hop off and run up to the door of room 314, the key cutting into my hand.

I fumbled and almost dropped it into the dirt by the door, cursing at myself in my haste. The door swung open to darkness. The curtains were drawn and the whole place was heavy and oppressive. My nose crinkled at the sharp odour of sweat and urine.

"Dean?" I called into the thick darkness. There was no answer, not even a rustle, only the whisper of moving air, rasping slightly on the inhale. I followed my nose to where the stench originated and found a man lying on the ground, still and quiet, cellphone clutched in dirty fingers and bloodshot eyes staring off into nowhere. "Dean!" I yelled down into his face. He didn't even flinch.

"Sam needs you." I put my hand gently on his forearm. I was on my back before I could blink, both hands stretched above my head and clenched in one of his vice-like hands, knife held unwaveringly at my throat, Dean's hips straddling mine and crushing me into the carpet. I looked up into his eyes, expecting to see great fires of rage burning there, but they were as lifeless as his voice when he finally spoke.

"Sammy's dead, you demon bitch, and I swear I will send you back to hell to join him."

XXXXX

Sam woke up shivering. He was tangled up in silky sheets and a soft pink comforter. He reached out instinctively before he even opened his eyes, searching for. . .someone. His hands met only air and for some reason, that worried him. He struggled to open his eyes, knowing there was. . .danger?

 _Gotta wake up, gotta stay awake._ Those words rumbled around in his head with urgency, even though he couldn't remember why it was so important that he not slip back into peaceful oblivion. He thought hard, but his thoughts were going too fast on clacking wheels and throwing up sparks that blinded him and sent him into spasms of agony. "Dean. . .stop train Dean," he mumbled. "I want to get off. Can't think on steel rails. DEAN!"

Slowly his brain began to clear and he could almost grasp his thoughts and force them to a speed he could follow. He remembered being hurt the night before and began to catalogue his aches and pains, even though he could do nothing about them. The slashes to his chest had faded to a dull ache and the leg, although it throbbed continuously, was not quite unbearable.

The pain in his head kicked it up a notch as the icepick buried in his forehead began to wriggle and shake like a live thing, sending bolts of lightning through his brain. "Stop! Not that tall. No snow cap. I stay below the treeline. Sasquatch. . .that's me. Not Everest. Never Everest." He giggled to himself. "Never Everest. Neverest." The laughter set off another storm in his brain.

He tried to focus his bleary eyes and finally caught a glimpse of the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand by her bed. As he struggled to prop himself up on one elbow, he caught a glimpse of himself in the pieces of mirror that still clung to the frame of the vanity. "What do you know? There is no icepick after all," he chuckled to himself, swallowing another three pills, At that moment, he remembered who he had been reaching for upon awakening and why.

"LEAH!" He cried out. New strength pumped through him from the adrenaline rush and he pushed himself to a sitting position and swung his feet over the side of the bed. His leg protested the movement, but he ignored it. He placed his feet on the floor and tried to stand. His vision exploded and went white. He cried out and collapsed to the floor, hard-earned consciousness not willing to stay.

 _I hope she's with Dean,_ was his last thought as awareness was crowded out by the dark. He lay still, blood seeping from his wounds and staining the cold floorboards beneath him; one arm outstretched, fingers brushing the ground that lay outside the circle of salt.


	8. Chapter 8

I looked up into Dean's face and I was terrified. There was nothing behind his green eyes but limitless terror, the same terror that I had broken free from.

"Please," I whispered. "You have to come with me. You have to save Sam."

"And how do I know you are telling the truth. All demon's lie. You just want to take me back to hell. Well, I am already there, so I might as well go down fighting." He spoke. There was no variation in his tone or volume, just hopelessness and despair shutting everything down.

A single tear rolled down my cheek. "Please, he isn't dead, but he will be if you don't come now. I can't save him and he made me promise not to take him to the hospital. I don't know what happened between you two, but the only thing you should feel guilty about is ignoring him now, when he lies bleeding in my bed because he had to try to save me."

I felt a slight muscle tremor and realized just how weak Dean was at that moment. He moved his knife hand away from my throat for a second to steady himself, but it was one second too long. I brought my knee up and kicked him where it hurts and in his moment of agony, I heaved with my upper body and managed to flip him over and straddle him in turn.

He was again just a little bit too slow and I took that opportunity to reach into my pocket, grab a handful of salt and shove it into his half open mouth. I held my hand there as Dean's eyes went wide. His entire body went rigid and he began to thrash about violently, but I remained on top of him, holding him down and keeping the salt in his mouth. Guttural screams tore out of his throat, half muffled by my hand. Finally, black smoke began to drift through my fingers and pour out of his mouth. Brilliant green eyes rolled back in his head and he relaxed, still and silent beneath me.

I carefully took my hand away from his mouth and leaned in to listen. His chest wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. "Dean!" I shouted his name as I turned his head to the side and roughly scraped out the salt that filled his mouth. I listened again but there was no sound of moving air.

Something snapped inside of me and I began to hit him, slapping his face and pounding on his chest, screaming at him about letting Sam die and giving up. Tears poured down my face to pool in his eye sockets and hang glistening on his lips. It didn't take long for my momentary psychosis to expend itself and I collapsed, weeping on his chest.

At that moment, Dean gasped wildly, sucking in air like a drowning man, and bolted upright grasping my arms fiercely. He shouted one word that carried all the grief and pain he had been lacking before. "SAM!"

I shrugged off his arms and grabbed his face in my hands, pulling his gaze to mine. "It isn't to late. You can still save him."

Dean leapt up off the floor and pulled me out of the hotel room after him. "Where's your car?" he shouted.

"I brought my bike," I said. "You will have to run."

"No time!" he cried and pulled me to a nondescript brown sedan, jimmying the lock so fast my head was spinning and hotwiring the car practically between one breath and the next. He shoved me through the driver door and over to the passenger side.

Thus began the most terrifying, exhilarating car ride of my life. I barely had time to gasp out directions before we reached the next step. I had never felt so out of control and yet, as I looked at Dean behind the wheel, my heartbeat slowed and time seemed to stop and I realized that he handled that car as if it was an extension of his own right arm. I was frightened, but I was also safe.

We reached my home in no time at all and I barely had time to tell Dean where to find my bedroom before he ran ahead of me, feet barely seeming to touch the floor as he rushed to save his brother. I saw him stop at the doorframe, shock and worry overtaking his features. I was not far behind him. I looked underneath his arm and could not stop the cry of horror at what I saw before me.

Sam's hand was torn open, blood leaving abstract patterns on the floor, and a darkness crouched over it, claws grasping his forearm as it laboriously struggled to drag him across the salt line that surrounded the bed. It was small and still largely transparent, but the more Sam crossed the line, the larger and more opaque it became. This barely had time to register in my brain before Dean was moving. He saw the shotgun resting beside my bed and flung himself toward it, not caring if anything was in the way.

In one fluid moment, he grabbed the shotgun, pulled it to his shoulder and fired. The creature disappeared and Dean was moving again, hoisting his brother up on his shoulder and back onto the bed before running at me, sweeping me up in his arms and depositing me unceremoniously next to his brother. He grabbed the rest of the salt and reapplied the salt line where it had scattered and then collapsed backward onto the bed. He took his first breath since that heartstopping moment when he had first seen Sam as we lay on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs.

There was silence for a long time and then Sam moaned softly, his eyes fluttered and he was back with us.

"Dean, you came." That beautiful smile with the dimples spread across his face.

"Yeah, little brother, I came. Couldn't let you do this by yourself. You know I would never forgive myself if. . ."

"Stop it Dean. That is all in the past. You are here now." I jumped in before guilt could overwhelm him again.

"She's right," Sam whispered. "I am just glad to have you back."

"I just wish. . .you know I would do anything to change this. . .to protect you like I should have been doing all along."

"Well, you know how you can make it up to me?" At Dean's negative he spoke again. "Patch me up and then lets get this bastard."

The afternoon felt really long. Dean sent me to the kitchen wrapped up in every protective measure he could come up with a request for something to eat as he started on Sam. I was grateful when I heard the shouts of pain coming from my bedroom. I went all out, hoping it would be over when I got back to the room, cooking up the last steak I had in the freezer, some potatoes and even a pie that I had made a couple of weeks ago and then frozen instead of baking.

I held my breath as I pushed the door open, carrying a laden tray and, instead of the gore-covered, field hospital I expected to find, I saw Sam sitting against the head of the bed, a little bit of colour back in his cheeks and swathed in neat, white bandages. Dean had already washed up and was repacking the first aid kit. There was a garbage bag leaning in the corner that I assumed held all my bloodstained bedding and the broken glass, but there was no evidence other than my memories and Sam's injuries that the night had even happened. That, and the newly repaired symbols that had been spray painted on my wall, ceiling and floor.

Dean's eyes lit up as he saw the tray I carried, eyes fixing greedily on the steaming blueberry pie. "I love you," he whispered in reverence, but I wasn't sure if he meant me or the pie so I just kept my mouth closed and set the tray on the bedside table.

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on my bed. For the first time, I was thankful my parents had been so extravagant with my grad present as to buy me a king size bed. Dean had been set free and the lack of chains had made him rather more carefree than he had been in a long time. He was also relieved. Sam's injuries had looked bad at first, but they were manageable, even the poor hand that had looked so mangled was easy enough to fix. It had only been trying to drag Sam across the line, not kill him, so its claws had missed all major blood vessels and tendons. I was giddy with relief over Sam's improving condition and Sam, well Sam was high. We sat there in the eye of the storm and I had never known such peace. There was a battle behind and it was to continue with the dying of the day, but we were alive and ready to face whatever comes.

We talked and laughed as the day wore on, shadows becoming longer and the sun exploding in a fiery passion of bright colours. Words grew less and silences grew longer as the glory of the sunset gave way to twilight and that began to deepen to true night.

Finally, Dean stood up, looking at both of us as if to remind us of the parts we had to play. "Its time."


	9. Chapter 9

I took the place I had occupied the night before, just across the salt line. Dean stood in Sam's place, before the symbols painted on the ground, and Sam lay propped against the headboard, shotgun cradled in his bandaged hands.

"Be careful," Sam whispered as the sun's light left the sky and true darkness fell. I had the eerie feeling of déjà vu as things began in the same way. The rush of immobilizing fear and that breathless moment of indecision where I could not take that step back over the line. I heard Sam's low voice calling my name and I leapt to his side, curling up against him, but making sure I was not impeding his aim.

Dean stood strong and confident as the creature once more formed in the room. It tried to avoid the symbols, but there was no where for it to go where it would not be trapped and in moments it was stuck in the middle of the floor, facing Dean just as it had faced Sam not so long ago.

I could barely keep my heart from leaping into my chest. In my mind's eye, I saw Dean lying broken and bloody on the floor, gasping his last breaths, his chest a ruin of torn flesh and his eyes staring at nothing. I saw Sam, burning with fever as infection burned through his veins and myself sitting by, helpless to do anything but watch as death claimed him excruciatingly slowly. And I closed my eyes and looked into my own face, hopeless and despairing as I sat with the stench of two dead bodies filling the air, watching the brothers decay before my eyes, slowly starving to death, too afraid to leave the protective circle of salt and wishing I was brave enough to finish it myself instead of waiting for the inevitable arrival of death.

My fears had nothing to do with Death's servant, but they were no less terrifying coming from my own imagination. I could feel tension radiating through every line of Sam's body as he covered his brother. He did not acknowledge my presence, every part of him was focused on making sure Dean stayed alive.

Dean's voice was sure and unwavering as he began the incantation. The creature twisted and turned, trapped with no where to go. His voice grew in intensity and volume and the horrible screeching wail began again. It seemed as if Dean couldn't hear it or feel it. Nothing changed in his voice. There was no hesitation, just Latin words flowing smoothly one after another from his lips.

I knew he was almost finished. The black smoke was almost entirely consumed by flame and it was dwindling away to nothing. I let out a huge breath I didn't know I had been holding and Sam relaxed just a tiny bit as Dean started on the last phrase of the ritual.

It was like a switch had been thrown. Dean's voice didn't trail off or die away, it stopped as cleanly as if it had been cut by a knife. He stood there, the frightening blankness returned to his face and he stood still, just staring at the creature and its flaming blue eyes. It was like some sick sports replay as I saw Dean pull out his knife just as Sam had and begin to bend toward the symbol.

"Get me to him," Sam yelled to me hoarsely. I stood and somehow managed to hoist him to his feet. I don't know how we reached Dean. Sam could barely stand and I was not strong enough to support him, but regardless, we were standing behind Dean, Sam holding his knife hand, other arm flung around my shoulders. I wrapped an arm around Dean's waist to keep us both upright and I buried my face into his solid, warm back as the terror once again rushed over me. Beside me, with a voice that slowly grew stronger, Sam began to speak the final words.

.~0~.

For the first time in a long time, Dean felt alive. The festering wounds that Jo's death had left upon him were reopened and cleaned out and finally able to begin the process of healing. The power of death had been broken and, though he could feel the waves of fear rolling out of the creature before him, they could not touch him anymore. It felt so good to be back, the Latin words remembered and gliding out of his mouth with easy familiarity and the knowledge that he was going to pay the son of a bitch back for the pain it caused Sammy.

He was nearly finished, already relaxing as the creature faded away, but as he began to speak the final phrase, a wave of paralysing energy swept over him and he looked, truly looked into the eyes of this being for the first time. What he saw brought him to a stop in abject horror.

There was no longer a mass of black smoke, but a human form. Dean's heart stopped and his stomach leapt into his throat. "JO?"

"Hi Dean," his blond angel smiled mistily at him. "I missed you."

"No, you're dead." He thought he had spoken out loud, but no sound broke the stillness of the room.

"Not quite," Jo laughed. "The hellhounds reached me seconds before the bomb went off. One took my arm in his teeth, ripped me from my mother and dragged me out the back door. I lay there, bleeding and dazed for what felt like hours until someone came along and found me. Ashtriel, the one you call the creature, or Death's evil minion, came upon me as I was dying and took pity upon me. He fell in love with me in that moment, but did not have the skill to save me, so instead he pulled me into himself, into the space that lies between this world and death and slowly he has been healing me."

"No, its impossible," Dean once again tried to get words past his frozen lips. "No one could have survived that blast."

"I don't know exactly why I was saved, but Dean, I am still alive. Death has not claimed me and you now have the power to save me."

"I will save you, but I must finish."

"If you kill Ashtriel, you kill me. You cannot banish him while he is trapped in the circle. I will be banished along with him. But there is another way. Ashtriel loves me, so much that he would set me free, even at the cost of his own death. Release him and he will set me free. He will split himself apart to let me out and then he will die. You will have me again and the world will be free of him. All you have to do is let him out."

"How do I know you are telling the truth?" Dean wept silently. He knew it had to be a pack of lies, but he wanted Jo back and he wanted Sammy to be safe and he wanted this monster dead.

"You can't know that. You have to trust me; trust our love, our destiny. You know we were meant to be together forever." Jo's smile was blinding him through his tears and the hole in his heart where she belonged yawned wide and threatened to swallow his reason and, in that moment, it no longer mattered that it was probably lying, that Jo was truly dead and nothing he could do could bring her back. He just wanted her back in his arms.

He slowly reached for his knife and began to kneel down to scratch away the symbol and then, Sam was behind him, holding the knife and pulling him back to a standing position. Sam's voice, breathless and pain filled, began reciting where he had left off, and there was another warm body at his back, holding them up and holding them together.

Dean watched as Jo's eyes faded back into the black mist and then as the creature, Ashtriel, vanished in a plume of pure white flame. Then everything was silent and still.

.~0~.

Sam swayed on his feet and would have fallen, but Dean dropped the knife and ducked under his arm. Sam flopped between us, not even having the strength to move the four feet to the bed. We dragged him over, not noticing the salt scattering beneath our feet, and all collapsed back onto my bed, adrenaline leaving in a hurry.

Sam was pale and running a low grade fever. We tucked him in at one end of the bed and then realized how tired we both were.

"Leah," Sam slurred. "You ssleep too. Sstill keep you ssafe." I didn't need any encouragement to snuggle up to him, facing him this time. I rested my head on his chest and relaxed as his deep even breaths began to lull me to sleep and his strong heart beat comfortably beneath my ear.

"Dean," I whispered, trying not to wake Sam. "There is room for you too." I couldn't see him, but I felt his hesitation. Finally he picked up his knife, slipped it under the pillow and lay down with his back to mine, facing the door, keeping watch even as he relaxed into slumber.

Dean still smelled of unwashed body and mouldy hotel room, but I found it strangely comforting. For the first time in months, there was truly nothing to fear.


	10. Chapter 10

I stretched lazily like a cat and burrowed into the warmth in front of me. I smelled gun oil, antiseptic and good clean sweat. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so relaxed, but my bladder was loudly announcing itself and I couldn't ignore it any longer.

I tried to gently extricate myself from Sam's arms without waking him up, but as I slowly moved myself back and away, I collided with another warm body. I started violently and kicked back without thinking. There was a loud thud and a low moan from the floor.

"You know, if you wanted me to leave, all you had to do was ask."

"Oh Dean!" I gasped. "I am so sorry. I was trying not to wake Sam and I forgot you were there."

"So you throw me on the floor to what. . .incapacitate my vocal chords?" he groused.

"Shh," I said fiercely.

"Its too late. I'm awake." Sam's sleep-roughened voice rasped from beside me. "What time is it?"

I glanced at the clock, surprised. "Almost 5:30 in the afternoon."

Dean clambered back to his feet and came around the bed to check on Sam's wounds. He sighed in relief. "No signs of infection, and I think your leg is set properly too. We will probably get an X-ray before we leave town to make sure, but I think you really dodged the bullet this time, little brother."

"Dude," Sam coughed when Dean was finished. "You really smell."

"Oh come on, I smell like a man!" Dean thumped his chest loudly. "You just want me to shower so my impressive pheromones won't be cloaking your own and you will actually have a chance with the wonderful, beautiful cook. But you have eyes only for me, don't you sweetheart?" Dean sat on the bed beside me and leaned over, puckering his lips comically. I giggled and shoved him back to the floor.

"Alright, alright, I can see where I am not wanted." Dean got up and began cleaning all their stuff from the floor . I left and went to the bathroom. Dean was just finishing up when I came back out.

"I'll head back to the motel," he was telling Sam as I walked back into the room. "Shower and some dinner and I will be as good as new. Then I am going to go and have a real "Welcome back to the land of the living, Dean" party. I'll probably hit up a bar and, just to warn you, I plan to make very merry tonight. You probably shouldn't come back to the motel tonight. Just stick around here and have some fun." He winked at me and I blushed.

Sam and I were silent until we heard the closing of the front door and the roar of the Impala driving away. Then I came and collapsed back onto the bed beside Sam with my arms up behind my head. We lay still and just breathed for a while, then I turned my head to look at Sam.

"What now?" I said softly.

"Well," Sam's eyes sparkled. "You could go grab your saltshaker and take up where you left off. I promise I won't peek."

I turned on my side to face him and lazily swung my hand at his cheek. He caught my hands in his huge ones and just held them between us.

"Gosh, your hands are so tiny," Sam whispered, his voice husky again.

"I know, I have to hold bowling balls in two hands and it is hard to peel potatoes." My voice came out in a breathless squeak as Sam's strong thumbs rubbed a path across my knuckles.

"Potatoes?" he questioned softly, bringing my hand to his mouth.

"Yeah," I exhaled shakily as he lightly kissed the tip of my index finger. "They get slippery and if they are a little on the biggish side, I just can't hold on to them." I moaned as he moved on to the other three finger. "I don't know how many times I have accidentally thrown them in the garbage. it's a curse."

"Doesn't matter." Sam's tongue briefly darted out and licked the pad of my thumb. "I like the way they fit in mine." He moved back to my middle finger, drawing it into his mouth and sucking gently on it. I moaned in earnest at the feeling of his mouth.

"I love the way your hands swallow mine," I said. 'I bet you can palm a basketball. I always wished I could do that." I pulled myself closer to him, leaned forward and kissed his knuckles.

Sam chuckled softly. "Yeah." He reached out with one hand and gently cupped the back of my head, bringing me even closer. Our lips met for the first time. It was soft and sweet, the barest brush of his mouth over mine. He pulled back and looked me in the eyes. "Is this ok?" he whispered.

I couldn't speak, I simply brought my mouth back to his and kissed him again, tentatively at first, then with a little more conviction. His tongue came out and brushed along my bottom lip and then suddenly we were pulling each other closer, lost in the heat of the moment.

Sam rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him. I straddled his hips, careful not to let all my weight down on him and we kept kissing. A warm heat began uncoiling in my belly and I felt him harden underneath me. Then we stopped at the same moment. I rolled off of him and we lay next to each other in the bed, arms brushing.

"Sam," I said at the same moment that he spoke my name.

"Leah." He stopped and looked at me, waiting for me to continue.

"You aren't going to stay," I said simply.

Wordlessly, he shook his head. I turned my face away from him, trying to hide the sadness in my eyes. He reached and pulled me against him in the same way we had lain the first night, when he had been covered in blood and I had been so afraid and I felt the same comfort I had felt that night. We lay there, not speaking, for at least an hour, maybe more.

"Can you play the piano?" Sam finally spoke from behind me.

"What?" I turned and looked up into his face.

"With your tiny hands, can you play the piano?"

"A little, I can reach an octave, just not much more. I would rather sing."

"Will you sing me a song?"

I nodded slightly and opened my mouth.

_If I should die this very moment_

_I wouldn't fear_

_for I've never known completeness_

_like being here_

_wrapped in the warmth of you_

_loving every breath of you_

_still my heart this moment_

_oh it might burst could we stay right here_

_till the end of time until the earth stops turning_

_wanna love you until the seas run dry_

_I've found the one I've waited for all this time I've loved you_

_and never known your face_

_all this time I've missed you_

_and searched this human race_

_here is true peace_

_here my heart knows calm_

_safe in your soul_

_bathed in your sighs_

_wanna stay right here_

_till the end of time_

_till the earth stops turning_

_gonna love you until the seas run dry_

_I've found the one I've waited for_

I stopped when I felt wetness in my hair and realized Sam was crying.

"That's beautiful," he whispered. I lay there and I wanted so badly to turn around, to finish what we started, but I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't do that to myself. If I held him now, I would never let him go.

Then, into the awkward silence, came the sound of someone breaking wind very loudly. There was another moment of silence.

"Um. . .was that you?" Sam finally spoke.

I just lay there, absolutely mortified, before muttering quietly. "I really should never eat pie." Then we both dissolved into helpless laughter and the Elephant in the room decided to run off and join the circus.

We talked long into the night, telling childhood stories and laughing. There were no promises and no mention of tomorrow's departure, just me and Sam, wrapped up in each other and the joy of life.

.~o()o~.

Dean strode back into the motel room and immediately opened the window, letting the late afternoon sun stream in. The door had barely closed behind him before he was stripping off his soiled clothes and letting them fall where they may. He turned the shower on to almost scalding temperatures and stepped in, letting the water run over his body, taking with it blood and dirt and sweat and everything else that had accumulated on his body in the last while. He watched the murky water swirl down the drain and for the first time since Jo's death, he allowed himself to really think.

He found the wound in his soul her death had given him, sealed on the surface, but infected and pussy within and he tore it open. The pain was intense. He could not remain on his feet but collapsed in the bottom of the shower, water pounding his face and body, and gut wrenching sobs ripped out of him. He grieved for Jo and all that could have been. He looked his loss in the face and as he wept, the wound slowly began to drain. The salt of his tears proved a painful cleanse, but a cleanse nonetheless.

He sat in the corner of the shower long after it turned cold and when he stood again, he was ready to live. Jo was gone and that would always leave a scar, but he knew it was time to fight on in her memory, to protect and save his brother, to protect and save the world. Her sacrifice would not be wasted.

Dean dragged himself from the bathroom, trembling like a newborn colt. He revelled in the feeling of warm, dry clothes. He didn't go out that night, but dropped immediately into his bed and slept dreamlessly until morning.

.~o()o~.

We had finally fallen asleep somewhere around 5:00 am. When we woke up in the morning, we did not speak, not as I left the room to shower and get dressed, not as I helped Sam into clean clothes and not as I cooked him breakfast.

Dean arrived around noon and after that, it was only minutes before they were ready to go. I followed them out to the car, Sam with his arm around Dean's shoulder and leaning heavily. Sam stood balanced on one leg, holding on to the roof of the Impala as I came to say my goodbye.

I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest. One of his arms came around and pulled me into him.

"Will you come back?" I finally asked the question that had been burning in me for hours.

"I don't know," Sam said brokenly. "What's coming next, well its pretty bad. I don't know who I will be at the end of it. I may not even survive. I don't want you to stay here waiting for someone who may never come."

"If you are able, will you come back?" I asked again.

"If there is a part of me that is still whole, I will return." Sam leaned down and kissed me one last time. I tasted salt on his lips and realized we both were weeping.

"Then I will be waiting," I said when we finally broke away.

After that, there was a quick hug for Dean and, almost before I realized it, I was waving goodbye to their taillights.

"Be safe, Sam," I whispered to the afternoon sky and I wasn't sure if it was a wish or a prayer.

.~o()o~.

"I'm sorry Sam," Dean said as they drove out of town.

"I'll be ok," Sam said. "But do me a favour? Let's finish this."

Dean nodded. "You're right. It's time. Let's go take the Devil down." At that, Dean turned his music up and began to sing along loudly to Metallica's "Wherever I May Roam."

Sam smiled and looked down at his hands, unbidden, the words of a different song came to his mind.

_I watch the night turn light blue,_

_But it's not the same without you,_

_Because it takes two to whisper quietly,_

_The silence isn't so bad,_

_Till I look at my hands and feel sad,_

_Cause the spaces between my fingers_

_Are right where yours fit perfectly._

He looked down at his empty hands and flexed them softly, remembering softness and small fingers and the sadness nearly overwhelmed him. A tear trickled gently down his cheek but he wiped it away before Dean could see it.

However, as he sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, he couldn't give in completely to despair. He was alive. His brother was back and, for the first time in a long time, he had someone to come back to, someone to live for.


End file.
